Our lost souls
by Fyrsil
Summary: Kidnapped at a young age, Peter Kirkland was abandoned by his captors on an ocean fort, where he learns to live alone at for four years. This is the story of the unlikely friendship between him and Raivis, an ex Soviet spy, and their struggle to cope with each tortured past.


Peter Kirkland was far too young to live alone.

He was also astonishingly good at living alone, for a twelve year old.

He had been kidnapped at the age of eight, and remained in the clutches of his captors for several years. His disappearance had caused an uproar amongst Britain's public, with massive and extensive campaigns to track him down and return him to his family, but all was in vain and as time went on the interest died along with his name.

The boy could only wonder if his family still remembered his name at all, or whether they had moved on and learned to fill the hole in their lives that was their eight year old son.

His own memory of the event was blurred and disjointed. He was very young at the time, and while it had been traumatic that had only served for him to reject focus on what happened; he could barely remember the faces of those who had came to feed him, in the cold, bare room he had been prisoner in. There was no explanation as to why he had been taken, only swearing and violence when he refused to tell them the secrets his older brother, a student at Cambridge University, had told him. He would never, ever betray his brother's trust and spill such secrets. Even at that age he knew the significance of what Arthur said.

A year and a half ago – give or take – the men had bound his wrists and taken him from the room he hadn't left for over two years and transported him to a new location. All the journey, he was oblivious to what was happening, and dared not ask them questions in fear of being hit or worse. A nighttime car journey and the sickness of the rolling of a small boat later, he was left clinging to a rusty ladder, battered by the freezing water of the ocean and staring at the boat that was continuing away from Britain – away from him – and over the horizon.

His limbs had been almost too frozen to haul himself up the slippery rungs and, heaven forbid, if he had fallen into the sea he would never have resurfaced. Like a half drowned cat, he had spluttered and shivered on the metal surface, splayed pathetically and weakly after barely making it to the top of the platform. In the time it had taken him to regain his senses, dawn had appeared, the rays of the morning sun reaching above the horizon while the boat continued until it was barely a dot out at sea. The light revealed to him the place he had been abandoned; wherever it was, it looked nothing like land nor boat.

The boy had quickly adapted to his new situation though. He had discovered a house-like structure on the small area, and seeing it abandoned claimed it as his own. On further observation, he found kitchens laden with tinned food and several bedrooms, offices and radio rooms that worked no longer.

The adjustment process had been scary and hard. Getting used to being alone, even if the only alternative company was the harsh, cruel men, was a hard task. After a while however, it began to feel like home. Only, at night he was scared of the crashing waves that could be disguising sounds of the spirits of those who had lived there previously, perhaps angry that he had invaded their home. And when a storm arrived, as one did every now and then, he could feel the whole structure groan as the waves pummelled from left and right, top and bottom. Peter didn't want to drown and he didn't want to be dragged to a cold, dark grave by the place that protected him.

Supplies were plentiful. He had both food and water to last a lifetime and plenty of warm blankets to protect from the frosty winds. When his own clothes became worn and dirty, he made use of the clothes that remained in the cupboards of abandoned bedrooms, which, albeit too big and some being moth eaten, were thick and suited to the weather. The only thing he lacked was company, so he made up friends in his head who would often play with him. He had several imaginary companions who would run around outside with him and curl under that blankets beside him when he was scared at night, and he could almost kid himself that the woollen blanket was the soft body of a friend. He tried once to recreate his mother and father, and maybe even Arthur though he would deny it, but somehow it was never the same as the distant memories of real life. He had forgotten their faces and the sound of their voices. The ghosts of them haunted him continuously.

The place he was at was called the Principality of Sealand. It hadn't been difficult to work out, seeing as there were flags and proud signs presented throughout the place. He wondered what had happened to the natives of this strange country to cause them to leave or disapear. He wondered if he wanted to know.

By that age of twelve, Peter though that it was a miracle that he had retained his sanity. After being alone for so long, he did occasionally do strange things such as talking to himself frequently and sometimes talking back, but he wasn't what he pictured insanity as: the biting, hissing and scratching animal-like human that foamed that the mouth like it had rabies.

Every day was much like the last, which made the shock of change all the greater. He had been enjoying the unusually pleasant weather for that time of year and reading an old encyclopaedia he had found, which proved to be difficult for his education starved brain, yet allowed him to access the world he was cut off from just a little bit more. He paused for a bit, slightly bored by the science section yet willing to read it anyway, and put the book down to give his mind some rest.

Lazily, he pressed his body against the railings, feeling the icy spray of the waves splash his face and refresh his mind, and as he was enjoying the sensation so much that it was a miracle he spotted the body floating face-up in the water, metres below.

Letting out a scream of shock, Peter reeled away from the edge, tales of the ghosts and drowned fishermen rushing through his mind. Tentatively, the boy took another look, and saw that the body was not old and grey, rather white, tinted blue, and bore a youthful if not childish face. His curiosity alighted, he ran to his chair where a pair of binoculars lay just in case an interesting bird happened to fly by. When he returned, he was relieved to see the figure remained more or less where it had been.

A closer look revealed it to be a young boy, the age he couldn't tell. The waves were pushing the body against one of the supports. Peter winced at the other boy was battered and without much consideration of his actions, he rushed to the rusted ladder.

It was at that point that he froze. In all the time he had been on Sealand, he had strictly stayed away from that ladder as much as possible in fear of slipping and becoming lost at sea for eternity. It was something that scared him more than anything else and the mere thought of risking his safety sent shivers down his spine.

Yet… this would be the first and possibly only chance he would have to access the outside world, let alone another human being. Being starved of company at such a tender age and for so long pushed him beyond his fears, and he decided to face the dangerous climb to retrieve the body.

Throughout the terrifying decent he kept his eyes firmly on his hands so that he wouldn't mess up the climb, and only broke his gaze when he felt the waves lapping at his ankles. Taking a firm hold on the other's shirt, he drew the floating body closer towards him, all the while clinging for dear life with his other hand. It was a miracle that the body was so skinny, skinny enough for Peter to be able to sling it over his shoulder and bear both their weights. It was hard – his arms, back and chest hurt under the strain, but with every step he was closer to the top; he refused to fail.

…

They had been inside for over ten minutes by then and with ever passing second Peter wondered whether he was in possession of a dead body or if it was alive and simply frozen from the ocean's icy embrace. After stripping the other boy and awkwardly dressing him as best he could, Peter had wrapped the frail frame in several blankets and hoped for the best.

Reaching to put a hand under the boy's nose, Peter worriedly noted how there didn't seem to be any breath at all, yet he was reassured by the tint of red in the boy's cheeks that he was probably – hopefully – alive.

He had read about what to do if a drowned person wasn't breathing in an old health and safety manual he had found when looking for plasters a while back, and performed the process as best he could, at first barely pressing on the other's chest but building in confidence until he was firmly pumping thirty counts.

He only stopped for a second to consider how strange it was to be mouth to mouth with a stranger, but he was giving the other his breath, no more.

After what seemed like an eternity and Peter was breathless and sweat soaked with the excursion, the other boy coughed up an apparent half the ocean, spluttering and curling on his side. His chest heaved with the pressure as he gulped the air greedily and expelled the salty poison from his lungs. Peter scuttled back, eyeing the other warily. Only then did it occur to him that the boy could be mean like those who had taken him from his family, and may hurt him or say unkind things to him. This was his home; he wasn't sure if he wanted a bully to share it with.

Frustrated with his thoughts, he shook his head to clear it of the worries. They were for later; in the moment he must help the first real life human he had seen in over a year. Said human turned to him, and blanched, backing away as best his exhausted body could. He opened his mouth. And spoke nonsense.

…

"I-I don't know what you're saying," Peter stuttered. He had rose to his feet, feeling the height gain him an advantage over the other. Just in case. "My name is Peter. Peter." He pointed to his chest, speaking as if to a child.

The other boy had halted in his panicked rambling and was staring at Peter like he was some kind of alien. Then an understanding sparked in his eyes.

"I am Raivis. Where am I?"

Speaking to someone other than himself felt stiff and unnatural to Peter after so long with only his own company. He wasn't sure how to answer, given he wasn't quite sure himself in the first place.

"I don't know, it's complicated, but who are you? Why were you floating about in the sea?"

Raivis' eyes widened as if he questions alarmed him. Peter had to stop him from standing up in fear that he would collapse right after.

"The plane… we were attacked… I must have crashed! Oh why me?" The sickly boy broke off into the strange language he had been speaking before, in obvious distress. Peter, having no experience in comforting people before, stood watching the boy's breakdown, shaking and confused himself, tears pricking his eyes for the first time in months. Raivis' appearance made him realise quite how alone he had been. It made him remember the blissful times when he was away from this island, away from evil men who hurt and scared him, away and with his family, safe and allowed to be a child. How long had it been since he hadn't had to look after himself and fear for his life?

Now that Raivis was there, and apparently weaker than himself, not only did he have his own life to guard, but he had to carry the weight of another human he barely knew, because he had no choice – Peter would never let another die for his own comfort, even if he was far to young to bear such duty.

Raivis cried for a long time, curled in a ball and leaning against the bed Peter slept in. Midday had passed, and Peter ate a tin of food. He thought about offering one to the boy in his room, but he didn't know how to go about it, and if Raivis didn't accept it then the food would be wasted. For the most part, he left the other alone, keeping to himself and trying to concentrate on books, yet finding it too hard as the words dances round the page as if teasing him..

Further that evening, Peter was faced with Raivis' weak frame standing in the doorway of the office he was occupying, and near yelled at the sight. It was hard to get used to company. Raivis offered a smile of apology and asked for food, which Peter gladly provided. He saw Raivis' eyes darting around, taking in the surroundings, taking in the fact that while they were out at sea there was no feel of waves; they were stationary – and alone.

He seemed more relaxed after that and ate in comfortable silence as Peter watched him.

"So... where are you from?" Peter asked, hesitant to ask again but childish curiosity taking over.

Raivis looked up. He was more collected and seemed far older after his initial panic, his blue eyes dark with a hidden history. "I'm… I'm from Latvia. You know where that is?"

"No," Peter admitted.

"It's near Russia." Wordlessly, Peter retrieved an encyclopaedia, looking up the countries in question and his eyes lighting up in understanding. Raivis eyed the book, "Peter, do you think you can show me where we are on that thing?"

Peter pointed to England. "This is where I'm from, but apart from that I don't know. I've been here for years and years and the people who took me here didn't tell me, they just left me here."

Raivis gave him a sideways glance, but seemed content to leave the matter to rest for the moment.

"So you're completely alone here? No one visits?"

"Yeah."

"How old are you?"

Peter though for a moment, "twelve. I think. I was nine or ten when they took me here, and it was a week after my eighth birthday that… that they t-took me away f-from my family…"

Raivis' eyes betrayed his worry as he asked, "who took you?"

Peter, for some inexplicable reason, was close to tears, yet he shook himself and reminded himself to stay strong, like he had to, "it doesn't matter." Turning away, he busied himself with the covers of his bed, "I'm tired and want to sleep."

"Okay," Raivis said reluctantly, "are you okay with sleeping alone?"

"I've been sleeping alone for years, of course I am."

"Okay, good night then, Peter."

When Raivis left Peter to the darkness of his room, the boy wondered why those words and the concerned looks the other gave him made him so upset. He wiped a stray tear from his cheek angrily, pulling the blanket over his head. Raivis had unsettled him: the probing questions and unwanted memories, the need to behave differently around another person when he had been alone for so, so long…

Peter didn't remember his last thought, that he was pleased to have company, as he drifte into a fractured sleep.

…

Weeks went by, and all the time the lost boys learned more and more about the other. Raivis, reluctant at first to share his story, had relented in doing so in trade for Peter's own history.

Raivis was Latvian born, orphaned at a young age and taken in dark Soviet powers at a young age. He had started out a slave, then a paid worker. Eventually, the powers had seen fit for him to be trained in the art of spying, as foreign powers didn't expect a Russian spy to be Lavian, much less fourteen as he had been at the time.

He had been extremely successful, despite his fear and inexperience. For a year at least… Mostly, they had him spy on significant names in the surrounding countries such as Poland and the Baltic states. His knowledge of Latvian gained him a significant advantage when working in his own country and the information he gained was of such importance that without it many Latvian people would be better off if the Russians didn't know it. Raivis knew he was responsible for the deaths of many, some being his own people, and every night he had cried in shame, yet the fear of the ruthless Soviet regime urged him to continue working.

While the Latvian boy spoke much of his past, he never relented to Peter's frustrated inquiries of how he had ended up half drowned in the middle of the ocean without debris in sight to signal a shipwreck or plane crash. When Peter asked or brought it up in conversation, Raivis would swiftly change the topic, and left the room in distress if Peter didn't stop.

Despite his secrecy, Peter was overjoyed to have company. The two were of a similar age and perhaps would have been friends even if they'd met in other, more mundane circumstances. Raivis was the door to the outside world that Peter had been missing out on for four years. He brought news of war and unsettlement between the Soviet Union and the West, how America, England, France and several other countries were threatening to take the offensive if Russia didn't back off from Poland and the Ukraine.

It was a reflection of the second World War and while Raivis spoke of it with concern in his eyes, Peter secretly revelled in the excitement, even if he were to miss out on the action himself.

His Latvian companion seemed wary to ask of the abandoned boy's own past, but Peter slowly opened up to him about the torturous years spent in captivity and the unspeakable things the men did to him to force him to tell his brother's secrets. He was surprised when Raivis cried, thinking that if anyone should be crying it was himself, but enjoyed the protective hug the Latvian enveloped him in.

He enjoyed the protection the boy brought all round. Initially he'd been reluctant to admit his fear of the night and storms, but Raivis had an uncanny way of telling when he afraid and they spent many a night huddled amongst blankets in the darkness, taking turns to tell tales both fictional and of the real world. Peter hated to show weakness, but Raivis shared that he himself had been frightened of such things before the Soviets had conditioned it out of him and he saw far worse things than lightning and the dark, and Raivis was the strongest person Peter knew, so he figured it must be okay.

As many fear ridden nights they spend shivering together, there was an equal amount of time revelling in each other's company. Having his warm and touchable companion was by far superior to his imaginary friends, and Raivis' extra three years of age, along with the unique and exciting life he had lived before ending up in Sealand meant that he could teach Peter a wealth of knowledge and skills. The younger boy adored learning, finding it far more pleasant to be taught by a friend rather than the distant memory of school, and Raivis was more than happy to assist.

When the weather was nice out, the two would play outside, making kites and playing juvenile games of tag around the central building. If it rained, they would reside inside, and those were the times Raivis would teach Peter skills such as numbers and language.

However, although Peter was perfectly content with the new situation, Raivis would occasionally become unfocused and stare into space with a small frown creasing his face. Peter had learned to let him be when he got like this. They were close, but deep down Peter knew that Raivis was keeping a lot from him. It upset him a little after telling the Latvian boy everything from his happy childhood to the years of his kidnap, but there was nothing he could do, and he could only hope that one day his friend may judge him as worthy of whatever secrets he was hiding.

One day in late autumn, they were sharing a tin of syrup peaches after a small evening meal. Raivis was studying Peter's face as he did sometimes when he was thinking of something concerning the younger boy. Noticing this, Peter asked if anything was wrong.

Pouting in contemplation, Raivis shook his head, before thinking better of his answer. Slowly, he asked, "Have you ever thought about trying to leave Sealand?"

"How would I? There's no boats and all the radios are broken. How would I?"

"But, if I could, say, fix the radio and contact someone? You want to leave this place, right? It would be sad to live here forever."

For some reason, this angered Peter, "why would I want to leave? I'm happy here and this is my home. Outside, there is people who hurt me and do bad things, you even say yourself that there is so much evil in the world, it makes no sense to leave! I don't want to."

"You can't live your whole life here, it wouldn't be living! Eating cold food and doing the same thing day in day out? How can you bear to think like that? You have a family waiting for you, probably missing you every day – worried sick!" Raivis was shouting in his frustration.

Tears pricking his eyes Peter stood up, his fork falling to the floor with a cold clatter. "If you want to go, then go. But don't tell anyone I'm here, because if you do I promise I will kill you. My family have probably forgotten about me and you don't understand!" He wiped away a rebellious tear that had overspilled. "Just let me be happy! You don't understand; no one understands!"

With that, he fled the room, oblivious to Raivis' call for him to stay.

As he lay protected by the blankets of his bed, he sobbed into his pillow. He didn't know why he was so upset by the thought of leaving, but every ounce of his being told him that abandoning his home by choice would be worse than being taken by force like when he was eight. Knowingly turning his back on his sanctuary made no sense, and how Raivis could think otherwise was beyond him!

Though… a part of his wondered what it would be like to see his parents again. All he had of them were memories of distant hugs and loving voices that wished him good night, told him to enjoy his day at school and comforted him after falling and scraping his knee.

He shook his head. He had blocked such painful memories for years, and he wasn't planning on going back… he wasn't.

…

Peter woke in the familiar embrace of Raivis. The older boy was curled protectively around him, one hand still amongst his unruly hair like he had fallen asleep stroking his hair in the motherly fashion Raivis sometimes did.

Letting go of their previous disagreement, the boy embraced the warmth of his elder, melting into the feeling of protection he never failed to offer.

Raivis woke not long after, noticing Peter was already awake yet not moving from their position. He spoke softly, like soothing an injured animal.

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier. It was the wrong way to handle it and I should have explained myself more."

"It's… it's okay."

"Can I explain though? Peter," Raivis shifted so that he was facing his friend, staring him intensely in the eye, "you may not realise it, and you may have many memories of a horrific world, but I can promise you that however bad the world is the good in it makes any pain worth bearing. A lot of bad things have happened to me in my life as well, and I have no one to go back to. It was a gift I will always be grateful for that I was washed up here to meet you – you are the only friend I have left alive and part of me wants to stay living here with you forever.

But there is so much more to life than living protected. You have years ahead of you. It is the best for you to leave and discover the world you have been reading about for so long. There is so much more good than bad out there, and so much happiness that you won't experience otherwise."

"B-but," Peter's face crumpled, "but w-what if my family don't want me any more? What if they have forgotten me or hate me for leaving? What if it was my fault that those men took me and hurt me? Maybe I needed to be punished for being bad and, Raivis, it's so s-scary to think of leaving here after being safe for so long?"

"Hey," Raivis said, his voice filled with worry, "hey don't cry!" He pulled his friend into a hug, resting his chin in the boy's hair and cupping his head as if that would keep any pain away. The Latvian closed his eyes, fighting away the tears that came. He had to be the strong one. "Peter, you are the most innocent, pure and wonderful person I have ever met in my life. I love you more than I have loved anyone and I promise that whatever I want for you is for the best.

You family won't have forgotten you. They are probably so worried and heartbroken that you left, and even if they have… You have taught me that family isn't just the people you are born to. Family is something that can be created as well and you will always be my brother."

They lay, sharing worries and comfort as the sun set. It wasn't the first time they had conversed so deeply, but it was the first time that such raw and buried emotion was addressed and the first time they spoke as brothers.

The two fell asleep wrapped in each other, peaceful in the other's arms. The next day saw a new perspective and an optimistic, joyful greeting. Peter warmed to the frightening prospect of abandoning his safe little island, comforted by the idea that Raivis would remain tied to him when they left.

Raivis, after a brief breakfast, spent the day in the radio room, assisted by Peter who happily scampered back and forth retrieving tools and snacks, making sure his friend looked after himself with the same care as the Latvian treated the equipment.

It was a routine that they quickly fell in to, and bonded over the work. Raivis took the opportunity to show Peter the basic workings of the equipment, and even allowed him to help with the easier tasks, which made the boy feel infinitely more useful. Some days were filled with frustration and anxiety and Raivis cursed the knowledge he didn't know, worried that their hopes of escape may be false.

But eventually their hard work reaped benefits. The first time Peter heard words through the static he yelled in excitement, hastily shaking Raivis who had fallen asleep on the floor in exhaustion. The Latvian eyes had lit up and they shared a tearful hug before Peter jumped to his feet, unable to contain his excitement.

It took Raivis several more days to improve the signal enough to for the radio to be of any use, as well as to figure a useful station who he could contact: the UK police. The nights of those days, Peter was still unsure of the whole alien process despite his excitement. He told himself to trust that Raivis knew best and spurred himself on with thoughts of his family and the life he had lost being regained.

…

"Why can't you speak to them? I don't know what to say," Peter whined, faced with making a call to the first strangers he had to speak to since meeting Raivis, which didn't really count.

"They may not come if they hear it's me, and my accent is too strong for me to pretend to be you. You'll be fine, just tell them who you are and where you are and I know they will come," Raivis urged.

"O-okay," Peter agreed warily.

"But don't tell them about me," Raivis added as an afterthought. Peter would have asked why, but he knew Raivis would refuse to explain.

Bracing himself, he took hold of the receiver and pressed the button. "H-hello? This is Peter Kirkland and I was taken from my family when I was eight years old. I… I am on a place called Sealand in the middle of the sea and a-alone.

"I've been alone for over a year," he added, thinking they would find the information useful.

Taking his finger off the button, he looked to Raivis for approval. "That's good!" The Lavian encouraged enthusiastically, give it a minuet and then say the same again."

Peter did that for a few times before another voice, almost too blurred to understand, sounded through the signal.

"I can't understand…" Peter replied to it, "the line is all fuzzy." After several retries, the voice stopped and the line returned to to monotonous static.

"They heard us, I think," Raivis enthused, though Peter was less certain. They agreed that if no help came after two days, they would try again; Raivis could perhaps have a closer look to see if he could make it so the line would be clearer and they could decipher what the other side was saying.

"Lets rest, for now," Raivis suggested. That night, Raivis seemed almost sad and Peter was less that restful as well. His head was crowded with so many fears and anxieties that even though he lay still in the cocoon of his friend's embrace he barely slept, and when he did his dreams were uncomfortable and turmoiled.

Both slept in, and were woken the next day by an unusually loud throbbing sound coming from outside. Startled awake, Peter struggled to the window, where his eyes widened at the sight of a flying machine – a helicopter.

"They're here!" He shouted above the noise, and Raivis was by his side immediately.

"Quick!" The Latvian took his hand and pulled him through the building to the door, where they stepped outside into the artificial winds caused by the machine's propellers. It was hovering about two hundred metres away. The two's attention was redirected to a boat that was approaching slowly, out of reach of the larger waves caused by the helicopter.

"Raivis?" Peter asked, clinging to his arm. He couldn't remember ever experiencing such commotion and suddenly he was very unsure of whether he had made the right decision. He just wasn't cut out for the outside world.

"It's okay Peter. Come on, lets climb down."

"I don't want to, I'm scared!"

"Please, trust me, everything is going to be okay."

Reluctantly, Peter allowed Raivis to lead him to the ladder, and went first under his friend's order. He shook all over, more than he ever had, and the gentle yet firm hands guiding him into the boat did nothing to subdue the pain in his chest. Raivis followed immediately after, taking his place next to Peter and wrapping an arm round him in comfort.

Peter was very confused when his supposed saviours then pulled Raivis away.

He could only watch, the cry of alarm caught in his throat, as the men examined Raivis' face closely before forcing his hands behind his back where they were cuffed. The Latvian was shaking, avoiding looking into Peter's eyes as he was firmly directed to the opposite end of the boat, away from Peter.

Peter ignored the comforting words offered to him by the men as all he could utter was, "why are you hurting Raivis? He's my friend. S-stop it!"

For whatever reason, his objection was rejected.

The next few hours passed in a terrifying blur. Everything was big and scary and new and Peter couldn't tell what was going one. He wanted to return to Sealand, he wanted to curl up in his bed and cry, he wanted Raivis…

Where was Raivis?

His only friend had been stolen away from him by the very people who had supposedly saved him. He was inconsolable. Peter didn't stop crying and was blind to the people who tried to calm his distress. The only person who could calm him was Raivis, and he was gone.

Peter cried himself to sleep, sitting on a hard stood and his head resting on the uniformed shoulder of a stranger.

…

He woke to silence.

Sitting up, Peter felt soft covers fall from his shoulders. He observed the room he was in, a plain, minimalistic affair with a small window, high up and barred. It took him a long time to remember how he had got there and he felt strangely numb at the memories.

Raivis was gone.

The door opened, and a woman who looked too young and kind to be in such a place entered, her face reeking of sympathy.

"Hello Peter. I know you must be a bit confused right now, but it's okay. You are safe now. My name is Amanda Little and I will be having a talk with you so that we can both understand what's going on a bit better."

Peter nodded mutely.

"I want to to tell me what you can remember over the time when you were away from your family. Do you think you can do that?"

"No."

"Peter, you have to-"

"No! I only told Raivis, and he didn't force me to. Where's Raivis?"

"Who's Raivis?"

Peter shook his head in disbelief. This woman must be so ignorant if she couldn't make the connection between Peter and the boy he was so close to; the boy who'd been taken away from him. He was about to explain to her angrily exactly what he thought when a spark or realisation showed in her eyes.

"Do you mean the boy you were with, darling?"

"Yes! Raivis! He has curly hair and blue eyes and is only a bit taller than me even though he's three years older. And you took him away!" Peter fixed her with an accusing glare.

"Honey, for now you just have to accept that that boy, Raivis, is not he best person for you to be with right now," she tried to explain.

"Then when can I see him?"

"We'll discuss that later."

The day was unpleasant. Peter was forced to resume his cold, independent mindset he'd had before meeting Raivis, and the people who tried to get information out of him had a hard time of it. One thing gained was the knowledge that his family were informed that he was alive and found, and were desperate to see him.

Under different circumstances, Peter would have been giddy at the news, but he was indifferent, still blinkered by the stress of being parted from his friend during the stressful situation he was in.

Meeting his family for the first time in four years was quite a different matter. It was strange, overwhelming and brought back so many memories he'd tried so hard to forget. His mother was in tears, embracing him tight enough to be uncomfortable, and his father much the same, though the man tried to maintain his composure.

They had been situated in a private lounge area that Peter had learned was in a Police Station in Suffolk. He sat under the arm of his mother that drew him close to her, much in the way Raivis had for the past months. Except… Raivis was thin and boney while his mother was soft and large. Although he willed himself not to, after a while spending time just speaking to his parents, he relaxed, allowing the tough exterior to break way into vulnerable childishness.

To say he didn't cry would have been a lie. Peter cried a lot and often. In the following weeks, he struggled and struggled to settle into the normal life he'd been starved of, and he couldn't overlook the heartbreak in his parent's eyes when they saw him heaving in unconsolable sobs, curled in a protective ball on the couch.

He missed Raivis a lot as well, and no one would tell him what had happened to his friend.

His brother Arthur had come home from studying abroad as soon as he could. It was surreal to meet again the person he'd been so close to as a child, and Arthur himself felt all too responsible for the torment Peter had been forced to suffer through. He apologised a lot, and cried when he thought Peter wasn't looking, but, strangely, Peter didn't blame his brother, even if the reason he was kidnapped was partly his fault.

He spent a lot of time talking. After the initial stubbornness, he opened up to his parents and the police and retold his whole story in all the detail he could. During each retelling, he remembered something more, something significant or something emotional. It was a cleansing period in which he learned to accept and move on. It would take a long time for him to get over the traumatic four years, but he was surrounded by people who loved him and had access to free private therapy to assist his mental recovery.

It was during a family therapy session that he confessed how close he had been with the Latvian boy he had been found with, and how without Ravis he would be trapped on Sealand to that day. He told of the endless love and support Raivis offered and how he was a mentor, a friend, a guide and a brother.

His parents took notice and after several inquiries with the police found out that Raivis was in British custody for his part played in the assault of a Brisish MP, which would have ended in the woman's death if not for her bodyguard sacrificing his own life crashing his private plane into the ones attacking the one the important woman was flying in, bringing the attackers down. They had assumed that all three of the Soviet workers had died in the wreck at sea, but it seemed on had survived…

Raivis.

He must have had more skill – been deeper into the dark workings of the Russian government – than he had let on to Peter.

The knowledge didn't stop Peter from loving him though. Repeatedly, he told of how Raivis had been forced into the things he did, how he had been introduced to the life of a Soviet slave as a homeless orphan, barely able to fend for himself.

Raivis, however guilty, was innocent in Peter's eyes.

…

The next time he saw Raivis, the boy was just as skinny as he had been before, though the dark circles under his eyes and the whiteness of his skin made him look all the more like a ghost.

Peter gasped and, feeling his mother squeeze his shoulder in support, rushed to the older boy and into the hug offered. However bony the Latvian was, his hug was just as warm and safe as any of the others offered on the island. The remained fixed together for longer than was considered normal, but they were making up for all the lost time which made it okay in Peter's eyes. Raivis had buried his face in Peter's hair and the younger could feel him shaking in unconfined sobs.

When they broke apart, Peter himself had to wipe away the tears that had escaped his eyes, and Raivis was offered a tissue by the stoic policewoman accompanying him. "I'm sorry," he apologised in a muffled voice, "I'm sorry, but it's been so long and I didn't know if you were safe."

"I'm fine!" Peter protested, spreading his arms to accentuate his point. "I was so worried about you! Why didn't you tell me that they would lock you up like this?"

"Would you have agreed to get outside help if I did? I wasn't sure if they would recognise me anyway, and I deserve what punishment I get here." The Latvian looked down, avoiding Peter's eyes like he was guilty despite his words. In reality, Peter knew that his friend only wished to protect him in the first place.

He remembered one of the causes of his worries that he'd been holding for months. "Raivis, what will they do you you? Will they let you out? I'm sure you could live with me, my parents won't mind and-"

"I will be having a trial. I'll probably serve a sentence in prison before being sent back to Latvia since it's not legal for me to stay here."

"What? No! Why would they do that? You can't go, I need you…"

Raivis shook his head sadly, "you don't need me, Peter, I am not a very good person in the slightest and there are so many people out there who are better for you to be friends with. After this, it's best if you forget about me."

"N-no…"

Peter's mother stepped forward. He had barely noticed her watching from the doorway, his father standing solemnly by her side, but now she pulled him close, kneeling down and forcing her son to look into her eyes. "Peter, your friend is right. Just have a nice last time with him and tank him for all that he's done for you," she lowered her voice so that the Latvian couldn't hear, "your father and I are trying very hard to explain everything that you've told us about him, and we have made sure that he will have a lawyer – someone to help show that he's innocent."

"You have?"

"We have. But don't fix your hopes too high, he has still done a lot of bad things."

Peter didn't see how the bad things mattered when he had done so much good to counter them, but he knew that his Mum was kind and honest and took her words to heart.

Raivis and he were allowed to spend two hours together. For the most of it, Peter spoke of his life in the present and thanked Raivis again for pushing him to leave Sealand. However, he confessed to his friend something that he hadn't dared tell any of the councillors or his parents; he told how some nights he would lie in bed and pretend he could hear the waves and feel the cold air on his feet. There were parts of Sealand he dearly missed, which made him feel ungrateful for the kindness and hospitality he had received once having left, but Raivis was quick to reassure him that it was normal for someone who had spent so much time in one place.

Sealand had kept him alive and provided everything he'd needed for over a year. It was going to have taken seed in his heart.

They didn't speak again of Raivis' future. It would have dampened the mood, and Peter wasn't allowed to tell his friend of the support his family was offering. All he could do was hope and pray that God or whoever was out there would look kindly on the boy and spare him the life that would inevitably be horrific if he returned to the Soviet's control.

…

Raivis' case, one so extraordinary and exceptional, had been made a priority in court, and a decision was soon to be made.

Considering the boy's tragic past and all that he had done for a British citizen, he would be gifted British citizenship on the condition that he respected a police assigned curfew monitored by a black electronic anklet. The though of a Soviet ally getting away with his crimes so easily enraged a great portion of the public, though as many people that were angry there was an equal amount who were sympathetic to his case.

Peter was delighted to find out that his parents officially adopted the Latvian in their gratitude of him returning their son, and in the running up to his moving he dashed round, making sure his room was clean and tidy as he would be sharing it with the other boy. In his mind, it was the ideal situation; the two were like brothers and had a connection stronger than with anyone else in Peter's life, even, he has sad to say, his own parents. He hadn't seen Raivis while his case was in court and for the past month he had been living in a youth detention centre.

When Peter saw his friend exit the car, he bowled into the other's arms so that both sprawled on the grass of the English boy's front garden. Laughing, they righted themselves and shared another joyous hug in celebration of the best possible conclusion.

They were together. They were able to live as brothers. And they were safe.

"Come, I'll show you our room, and you can settle in and that," Peter enthused, while Raivis smiled and nodded his agreement. The Latvian boy took a while to adjust to a family atmosphere, and to open up to anyone but Peter. It took him yet longer to become a child again and to look up to Peter's parents as his own. Both enjoyed being home schooled, as it was decided that it would be best to protect them from the stress of public school – at least for the time being.

Life was good and continued for a further two months of bliss. Peter thought that he couldn't be happier. In moments of reflection, he recalled the turmoil of the past four years in acceptance, because while if he'd had the choice he would have stayed with his parents in a heartbeat, he was glad for what they had brought: growth, strength, and a soulmate.

…

It was on a cold February morning that it happened. A knock on the door, the solemn face of a police officer and the distinct feeling that something was missing.

When Peter's mother heard the news she broke into tears, an inconsolable mess. When his father heard it his string face contorted in pain and he had simply whispered 'not again.' When Peter heard it, a cold, empty feeling started in the pit of his stomach and spread until it enveloped his entire body. He didn't cry. He didn't shout or scream or curse a the world.

But a part of him died.

Raivis was dead.

He had been murdered in the clear afternoon, in a bustling public place surrounded by people. He had been returning from a counselling session for the crippling anxiety that had made him tremble uncontrollably and was triggered by the slightest, most random thing.

Raivis was dead.

He had been murdered by the men who's taken his life since the took him in as a young child and made him slave for the Soviet regime that ruined so many people. No one knew how exactly they did it, but they had entered the country – illegally, supposedly – and tracked their former member down. With vengeance for his supposed betrayal, they had watched as he had walked thorough the town square, and then their best hitmen shot from all around, unseen by the surrounding public. The accuracy of their aim was unfalteringly deadly, and their Latvian member had been struck through the heard four times. He was dead by at least the second shot, before he hit the ground.

Raivis was meant to be dead. So they had made sure of it.

Suddenly, Peter was back in Sealand, and huddling beneath the blankets of their bed. The sea raged outside and the wind howled in despair. Raivis was by his side, and together they revelled in the other's company, the silence somehow so calm and safe as it contrasted the racket outside.

It was so nice because Peter was with Raivis and Raivis was with Peter and they would never be apart. It was nice because it was dry and warm and safe.

When Raivis left, Peter wished for the water to envelop him as he had been so frightened of before. The mere thought of the icy kiss of death that it brought was a daydream that he never let go of, and in following years of his life he would be haunted by his vivid imagination. He got help for the suicidal thoughts and the depression his brother's death brought, but non of the help seemed to actually help, and whatever his worried parents did seemed to make no difference.

He felt guilty of putting them through losing him again, but he had no control over how he felt and how poorly he dealt with it.

It was there. And Raivis was not.

…

 **And so ends yet another one of my short stories. I have no idea how this actually is, but I am going to post it before editing it because I have been working on it for a while and am eager for feedback. Please feedback, it would mean the world to me. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed (and that it wasn't too bad .). Transferring this ruined formatting so i apologise for any inconvenience there. It does take away from a bit of the story.**


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